Page 87 of Redline Baby

"She did."

"She told me she would. She got your number basically for that purpose. Tattle tale."

Soren waits.

"I was going to tell you."

"Were you?" Still level. Still plain.

I look down at the paper towel in my hands. "I'm sorry, Daddy." The words come out smaller than I intended. "I got scared." That changes something in his face. Not the seriousness. Something underneath it. "I got all the way there," I say. "I sat in the garage forever. I made it to the elevator, and then I started thinking about what she was going to ask me."

Soren doesn't interrupt.

"Charles. The Little stuff. All of it." I twist the paper towel between my fingers. "I wasn't ready for it to become something official. With a professional and a file and somebody writing it down like it's a thing that happened to me instead of just something I keep in my own head."

Soren looks at me for a long moment. "That's something I actually needed to hear."

My eyes lift.

"The fear is real. We can work with fear." He pauses. "But you were supposed to tell me you were scared. Not skip the appointment and say nothing."

"I know."

"Rule One."

I look down again.

"You remember it?" he asks.

"Therapy," I murmur. "Show up. Be honest with the therapist. Be honest with you."

"You broke two parts of it."

I wince. He still doesn't raise his voice.

"Tomorrow, we'll call and reschedule together. When the appointment comes, I'm taking you. I'll sit in the waiting room until you come back out."

My heel starts tapping against the concrete.

"You do not have to walk into that office pretending you're not afraid. You can tell me you're scared. You can tell her you're scared. You can sit in my truck for twenty minutes first if that's what it takes." His eyes hold mine. "But going dark about it isn't something I'm letting slide."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"I know you are, baby boy." His voice softens slightly. "But tonight we're going to deal with it properly."

My stomach drops. "Okay."

I'm shivering a little. Not from fear exactly. Not entirely.

The shop closes at six. Once everything is locked up and the last customer is gone, Soren holds open the door at the back of the shop that leads upstairs. I go through first, my skin strange with anticipation.

Upstairs, the apartment catches the last hour of daylight through the west-facing windows, gold light stretching across the orderly living room. Soren leaves the overhead light off and switches on the floor lamp instead, amber and steady.

I stand in the middle of the room with my jacket still on, hands shoved into the pockets, staring at the floor.

"Go change," he says. "Sweatpants. The gray ones."

I go.